‘In your garden?’ Sandy looked genuinely surprised.
‘Of course not. In theirs.’ I nearly appended something withering. I do not often get exasperated with Sandy. This was one of the few times. ‘Not that they have a garden, but outside the house. At night. I saw him.’
‘Did you? Well,’ Sandy gave this some considered attention, ‘men do tend to do this, Thea. I don’t think it’s a cause for concern. Perhaps he didn’t realise you were watching.’
‘Of course I wasn’t watching,’ I snapped. ‘Are you trying to be amusing? Kim and I were coming back in the car. She saw him too. It was very careless – he must have seen the headlights approaching.’
Oh. Was she alarmed? Not in the least, I said. She seemed to think it was a riot. Sandy seemed to think that was reassuring. Well, it doesn’t reassure me, I said. He gave my shoulder a placatory pat. Really and truly, he said, I shouldn’t get too upset over something like that.
He thinks it is trivial, that was obvious. I went off to pick up Teddy’s meat from the butcher. For once I felt displeased with Sandy. Tolerance is all well and good, but you can have too much of a good thing.
Fortunately, neither of us is one to stew over minor disagreements, otherwise I would be seriously out of sorts.
Drove home, mind on a thousand things, completely overlooked dentist appointment. Receptionist rang. Reminded me, dear, that she had remembered to remind me only yesterday, dear. The world is divided into those who use the word dear and those who do not. Scrambled back in car. By then, needless to say, I’d lost my slot and had to hang around the waiting room for another interminable hour. Hadn’t brought a book, always a disaster, and was reduced to leafing through their stack of asinine celebrity (sic) weeklies.
The bulk of the ghastly so-called celebrities were unknown to me and, you’d think, of no conceivable interest to anyone with half a brain. Only famous because they had one or more of three classes of problem: drug and alcohol; weight loss or gain; or a noxious partner who had cheated on them or whom (a preferable class of problem?) they were cheating on. A dispiriting litany. Can’t think why their legions of half-witted fans aren’t in a permanent vegetative state. Or perhaps they are; it would explain a lot about youth suicide. Very worrying to think these trashy magazines are read, and read avidly, by Kim’s age group.
Rounding the steep bend close to home, the spot where Kim had come off her bike, I spotted a flash of blue gingham. There she was, sitting on the steps with Teddy. On hearing the car she performed several hasty actions that reminded me of some disreputable schoolyards of yore. The movements conveyed, even from a distance, guilt.
I conducted a rapid debate with myself as I drove up. There are well-worn arguments for and against. Disapprove, and risk making a big deal of something which might be fleeting, or ignore it, and risk appearing to sanction something you deplore.
The bike and backpack were lying on the ground. She stood up as Teddy bumped down the steps towards me, tail waving.
‘How nice to see you,’ I said. And then, in a casual manner worthy of Sandy, ‘And did I imagine it, or did I just see you smoking?’
Hand to mouth. ‘Oops. You didn’t, actually. Imagine it. I don’t do it much, but. Like, you know, rarely. Very rarely indeed.’ A wry grin. ‘Can’t afford it.’
I needn’t have wasted time on the internal debate. My gut reaction asserted itself, independent of accepted wisdom either way. Very rarely indeed was still too much, I said, especially for a young woman of her intelligence. Why bother? She should stop now while it was easy, before it became a habit. I surveyed the area where she’d been sitting. Sure enough, there was the telltale fag end that had been quickly ground into the soil.
‘That unpalatable object down there belongs in the bin. You can pick it up and take it inside.’
She disinterred the butt, with a demeanour half sheepish, half stroppy. I was reminded she is only twelve, something I increasingly forget.
‘You do know never to drop lighted cigarette ends in the bush,’ I said conversationally.
‘Yup. Sure do.’ Performed in a sing-song voice. She wrapped it in a scrap of newspaper, which I thought considerate, and deposited it in the kitchen bin. Meanwhile, I put the kettle on.
‘I bet you smoked once,’ she said.
‘Not at your age I didn’t.’
‘When, then? When you should’ve known better?’
I should’ve known I wouldn’t escape unscathed. ‘Be that red herring as it may, it’s you who should know better now. There is any amount of information about the dangers, far more than we had. Or than we bothered to find out. To be fair.’
‘So were you once, you know, addicted to nicotine? In the olden days?’
I was incensed. ‘No, of course I wasn’t.’
Why of course? she demanded.
‘Because, while I may have other reprehensible characteristics, I am not an addictive person.’ She looked at me with an expression that clearly said, well, bully for you. I was never particularly taken with it as something to do, I added, and so I gave it up altogether. Eventually. ‘I came to think it was an expensive habit and rather a cretinous one to boot.’
I dismissed from my mind another related issue. That of my subsequent flirtation with an illegal substance under circumstances, as well as at an age, when I should certainly have known better.
‘A lot of dudes chew gum to stop themselves from smoking,’ she remarked. ‘You don’t like people chewing gum either, do you?’
‘No, I do not. It’s a revolting habit but unquestionably the lesser of two evils because it’s less harmful to one’s health.’
With a nonchalant air she positioned mugs, milk and sugar bowl on the kitchen table. She remembered I take honey in mine, and retrieved that as well. Neither of us spoke until the tea was on the table.
Then she demanded, rather challengingly, whether I thought what Oscar said was right. About brainwashing.
‘You know, Thea,’ seeing my blank expression, ‘all that stuff about choosing the habits you want, and then sort of talking yourself into having them. You’d say it in a more elegant way than that,’ she added in a more conciliatory tone, ‘but it’s kind of what he was on about, right?’
Brainwashing was rather an over the top, Oscar way of putting it, I suggested, but he did have a point. It was to do with identifying those aspects of life that were subject to our own control, such as smoking. ‘After all, there are enough pesky things in the world one doesn’t have any control over.’
‘That’s so right. More than enough pesky things,’ she said perkily. Such as adult interference, was the implication.
I opened a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. Until recently I have not tended to have biscuits in the house, but the butcher had a full box on the counter. Fundraising for childhood cancer. Kim took one with alacrity and watched me pour the tea.
She munched the biscuit. ‘You said you’ve got others. Reprehensible characteristics.’ Articulating the words with emphasis.
I said I was a member of the human race, regrettably enough, so I was subject to normal human failings. Like her or anyone else.
‘And unlike Teddy.’ About to give him half a second biscuit, she saw my face, and ate it herself instead. ‘Uh huh. Well, just to make us even,’ a sly glance, ‘since you don’t smoke anymore, right, can you maybe name one other failing? Doesn’t have to be normal or human. And only one, no coercion, no torture. It’s not like I’m the Gestapo.’
I’d lent her a biography of Nancy Wake, the Australian heroine of the French Resistance. She must have been reading it.
We had bounced back on a normal footing now. The P-words – prudery, pride – stampeded into my mind. Without pause, although I think I was aware in a corner of my mind that our little tiff had made me imprudent, I said I had certain unfortunate tendencies. To be somewhat thin-skinned and self-protective, for example.
The eyebrows shot up. ‘Yeah?’ Probably had expected me to say I was
bossy and opinionated. ‘But that’s way better than being, like, a thick-skinned redneck. And we have to protect ourselves, right? Because no one else will, and that’s for sure.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ I found I had an unforeseen desire to deflect her from my well-worn path of pessimism. I have a mordant proclivity to look on the dark side, which I would not want to encourage.
‘As you go through life you will generally find people are well-disposed to you. Many, if not most. And you will make friends who have your best interests at heart. True friends. This will come about. There is every chance of it.’
Though vigorous, the assertion sounded dubious to my ears. ‘Every likelihood,’ I repeated firmly. She muttered something under her breath. ‘I didn’t catch that,’ I said.
She gave me a cheeky look. ‘Sounded a bit wishy-washy to me. A bit like the hackneyed Oscar-speak you so disapproved of.’
‘I am not plucking platitudes from the air at random. I am speaking because I have, I like to think, some knowledge of the kind of person you are.’
‘Yep. You do. So?’ And a small smile, for my benefit.
I felt some additional heft was required. ‘We should protect ourselves, of course we should, but sensibly. Not at the expense of –’
I stopped short. I was in danger of wading into deep waters. Then knew immediately that such a reflex was a demonstration of precisely what I had in mind. It was self-protective, and dishonest through omission, when what was needed was Oscar’s unambiguous directive to be brutally honest.
‘Not at the expense of buckling oneself into a suit of armour. Or of being over-cautious, because that can be crippling, too. Or of being fearful,’ I stopped, unsure if I was prepared to go any further with this.
‘No way. I can’t believe you’re fearful of anyone,’ she said.
‘Not so much of humans, perhaps, but I have, sometimes, been reluctant to confront the serious problems they can unleash. First to accept that they exist, and then to address them.’
‘Why? Because you wanted more proof? Because it might upset, you know, the apple cart?’
Bingo. Two bullseyes. ‘Indeed. Because it might destroy the status quo.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘But that’s not fear. That seems like totally sensible caution to me.’
I looked down. My hands were gripping the table. Teddy lay at my feet, ever tranquil, ever watchful. For some reason I felt driven to be more explicit. There was something reckless about the impulse, when I consider it.
‘Occasionally in life, you see, you can find yourself in a position where you are faced with difficult decisions. Irrevocable, life-changing decisions that must be made in order to avoid worse things happening.’
She rested her chin on her hands earnestly, elbows planted on the table. Wasn’t I being too hard on myself here? Most decisions were a bit of a bugger. She hadn’t had to make any irrevocable, life-changing ones yet – they’d always been made for her. But they must be the pits, absolutely.
Sometimes there was an additional, critical dimension, I said. Sometimes there was a moral issue to contend with.
‘D’you mean, a matter of right or wrong?’
Exactly. The stakes were much higher in such a case.
‘But shouldn’t that make it more clear-cut? Like, easier to make the decision in the first place?’
It should in theory, I said. But sometimes it was a matter of courage. Of being brave enough to weigh up the consequences. The consequences of doing nothing, as against those of acting decisively. This was the point at which it became a choice between a right and a wrong decision.
She was regarding me steadily, drumming her fingers on the table. I thought, Kim knows that I have alluded to something with deep significance in my life, but has no idea what it can be. In a moment she is going to ask me for an example I am not under any circumstances prepared to give.
I resorted to evasion, a tactic beloved of men of the cloth as well as politicians and teachers. It was always better to be bold, in the long run, I said. I should have stopped there. Instead, for some obscure reason, I felt the need to add, ‘And, generally speaking, it is better to advance boldly than to stay huddled in one’s comfort zone, taking refuge in the belief that other people aren’t worth it and full participation in life is beneath one.’
That came charging – how do they put it? – out of left field. Or out of the top paddock, the one that is a few kangaroos short. From Kim’s changing expressions I sensed confusion was getting the upper hand. As well it might.
‘In other words, it is better than using the excuse that full participation in life is alien to one’s temperament.’ This was an escapee from the same paddock. Now it was said, I reviewed it dispassionately. ‘And, for that matter, regarding one’s temperament as irredeemably fixed.’
I found I was very tense. My neck was stiff and my shoulders were aching. I tried to rotate them.
‘Irredeemably. That’s a good word. What does it mean?’
I replied, ‘I know that my redeemer liveth not.
Alas and alack, ’tis all tommyrot.’
Kim shifted in her seat. She took another biscuit.
‘When something is irredeemable, it means it can’t be restored, or made good. I have a tendency to be inflexible, you see. Rather more than a tendency, I suspect.’
Rather more than a tendency? Poppycock, I’m as stubborn as hell. I saw a responsive gleam.
‘That’s enough pontification,’ I said briskly. ‘Now, you must forget all about my reprehensible characteristics. They were never mentioned. We never said a word on the subject. All right?’
‘But it wasn’t pontification, and we did say a word on the subject. Lots of – thought-provoking words.’
She looked dismayed and her shoulders slumped. Posture needs work, I’d have written on her report. Her expression told me I had ended this interestingly opaque, adult conversation in a cavalier fashion, and at my own convenience.
‘Just remember to sit up straight and embrace life with both hands. In a nutshell,’ I said.
‘In a wishy-washy nutshell, you mean,’ she muttered. No attempt to hide the fact that she felt short-changed. I had to admire that. She helped herself to two more biscuits without asking, and took off.
After she’d gone I went and lay down on the bed, something I rarely do in daylight but have been succumbing to recently, and closed my eyes for an hour. I felt quite done in. It must have been the unaccustomed unburdening, although I’m not sure how I imagined the burdens might be eased. Or what I thought I was doing at all. You can’t presume to teach anyone how to live life, can you?
Even when I was head of a school I was averse to anything that might be filed under ‘life guidance’. Most principals would see that as fundamental, a central part of the job description. But it was never my thing. I lacked the desire to go there, as they say. The desire or the gall. I left it to others who had no qualms on either score. I was quite at home in the intellectual sphere, on the other hand. I had no problems telling pupils what they should do academically.
And now, what have we here? I seem to be suddenly dispensing advice for living. Is my temperament becoming unstuck, by any chance? Has what was once so irredeemably fixed lost its moorings?
I should have taken the decision to act against Matthew Rhode much earlier than I did. They said it all began with Matthew poaching my star pupil, but he didn’t poach her – it was my doing. I suppose it could even be said that I gave her away.
The girl was demanding in her brilliance, and highly competitive. It required a deal of work to keep up with her, let alone to stay one step ahead. I can’t pretend Matthew was not involved in the decision, but I firmly believed that she would do better being coached by him. I thought it was in her academic interests to be under his auspices.
The Rhode to hell is paved with good intentions.
Unlike many teachers, I do not think I was ever guilty of having a possessive or proprietorial attitude to an
y of my students. If anything, I had a more proprietorial attitude towards Matthew himself. And if the truth be known I was happy to have the responsibility taken off my hands.
I gave him what he wanted. This is a hard confession to make.
I should have been more proactive. I should have weighed up the consequences and had the courage to act, before the consequences of my inaction overwhelmed me.
My mind was elsewhere, as is the default case at the moment. I bumped into Ellice. Quite literally, our cars were parked next to each other. I said I’d been musing about her holiday in Melbourne. Which is true, I have been preoccupied with the subject, among other things. How sweet of me to muse about her, she laughed.
Was it really such a good idea to go away at this stage? I said. I was wondering if it might be tempting fate. She made a face. Tempting fate, Thea? Ooh, please explain.
Might it not be unwise to fly, in her condition? Wouldn’t it be more sensible to stay at home and rest up? Let Frank wait on her? And Kim too? ‘Bearing in mind all the gyno problems you’ve had,’ I said.
She beamed. I was a poppet to be so concerned, but there was no need to worry. Flying that little distance at this stage was immaterial. The doc said a change of scene was as good as a holiday, and she was getting both, right?
A poppet. First time I’ve been called one of those. I tried not to shrink back as she gave me a hug. I may or may not have had the grace to feel a smidgen of shame. Not enough to make any difference.
Then, as we turned the keys in our respective cars, she looked round. Delivered, had she known it, a parting shot across my bow. Franko had told her I was worried about Kimmie feeling left out. Well, I should give her top marks, because she was doing exactly what I ordered and getting out of their hair. Wouldn’t this be a perfect opportunity for the two of them to do a bit of bonding? Heaven sent, Thea!
These bursts of unexpected heat. We’ve always had them in autumn, but they seem more common now and longer lasting. Not a breath of wind. Couldn’t face lunch, drank a large glass of lime squash and soda on the verandah. At least it’s shady there; it was like an oven inside. I’ve always resisted them and made do with fans, but if this continues I might have to give in and invest in an air-conditioner for the bedroom. They say you can get good ones second-hand.
The Precipice Page 21